THE SATURDAY PROFILE; From France, a Soccer Shogun Stirs Up Japan

WITH his tousle of chestnut hair, arms akimbo and streams of invective shouted in French, Philippe Troussier cuts an odd figure on a Japanese soccer field.

Add to the picture a lanky, longhaired interpreter-sidekick, who never strays more than a few feet from him, and the impression given by Japan's national soccer coach is more Don Quixote than the latter-day shogun he proclaims himself to be.

On the eve of soccer's World Cup competition, which Japan and South Korea will host in May, Mr. Troussier has engineered a remarkable turnaround of Japan's long mediocre national soccer program. The problem is that with his highly physical manner, his coarse speech and a laser-lock gaze in his blue eyes, the fiery Frenchman may have broken every cultural convention along the way. He has been known to get in his players' faces and scream at them mercilessly, even slapping them around, in violation of a cherished taboo, which is to avoid causing public loss of face.

In one famous incident last April, Mr. Troussier shoved one of his players, Ryuzo Morioka, off the field, telling him to get lost. The humiliated player took his shoe off and threw it at the coach. But the incident was not held against him, and Morioka played defense in the next game.

Far from confessing an ignorance of Japanese culture, the coach offers his own diagnosis for what ails Japan. ''The greatest frustration of this people is that their shogun period has sadly disappeared,'' he said. ''During the Second World War, they were completely defeated. All their cultural weapons were taken away and replaced with teddy bears. Today there is a second shogun whose name is Philippe Troussier, who is trying to reawaken the strength that lies within them.''

For most of his time in Japan, the news media have vilified Mr. Troussier, 47, for supposed arrogance. Soccer fans, though, have gradually adopted him as their hero after a record that now includes an Asian championship victory in 2000, reaching the quarterfinals in the Olympics and two victories in the Kirin Cup, an annual tournament in Japan.

Still, many Japanese have been bewildered to find that Mr. Troussier's methods include patting his players on the back, on the rear, and even kissing them on the cheek, mon Dieu. In Japan such public displays are taboo and have surprised some journalists who have insinuated that not only is the coach a tyrant, but perhaps gay.

Coaching in Japan since September 1998 has not been an eye-opener just for the Japanese. Mr. Troussier says that his odyssey from France, one of the world's proudest countries, to another, Japan, after wanderings in African coaching jobs, has taught him as much about humanity as about soccer.

Mr. Troussier grew up in Paris, the eldest of six brothers, and played soccer professionally for nine years, ending in 1983. His first coaching job came almost right away, when he took over the French under-15 national team. But he credits Africa with truly getting him started as a coach. ''In France, according to the cliché, Africa was a place where people went when they had no other possibilities,'' said Mr. Troussier, who built a strong record in a succession of African countries, including Ivory Coast, Burkina Faso, Nigeria and South Africa. ''I went to Africa as naïve as a child. For me it was like an exotic dream. I left with a pack on my back but I filled it with experiences and friendships.''

In Africa, where the former player got his start in coaching, Mr. Troussier's reputation grew quickly. Known as a turnaround specialist who could get players to believe in themselves, he began to be called le sorcier blanc, or white witch doctor. Mr. Troussier formed strong bonds wherever he went, and he carried the title lightly, proudly invoking it even today.

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AS his fame spread, though, critics in France, which won the last World Cup, dismissed ''Troussier the African'' as a specialist in the exotic. In the world of soccer, where Europe and South America have always ruled supreme, Japan is, if anything, even more exotic than Africa.

''I never got hung up on prestige,'' Mr. Troussier said of the itinerary he has followed.

In some ways, to hear Mr. Troussier speak, being in Japan has been like starting life all over again. Gone was the breezy camaraderie of Africa. Gone, too, were little things like being able to understand conversation around him. Beyond matters of language (He relies on a talented interpreter from France), Mr. Troussier found himself bewildered by Japanese culture.

''When I arrived here I had the impression that people didn't ever look at each other,'' he said in an interview in Tokyo. ''I couldn't understand how crowds functioned. No one bumped into anyone else, even though people's eyes never met. Sometimes I would ride the subway and I thought, people here never communicate with each other. Obviously this is completely false. Though I still may not have earned my permit license for walking in crowds, I've learned that the society has its own rules for communication.''

Mr. Troussier said his appreciation for the Japanese way came on a Christmas trip to Paris when he went shopping at the Tour de Montparnasse. ''There were only a couple of hundred people in the store, but I couldn't advance at all,'' he said. ''I realized then that in comparison with the Japanese, French crowds are an absolute disaster.''

ON the field, he makes no concessions to Japanese manners and methods. ''I am like an orchestra conductor,'' he says. ''Luckily, those conductors don't talk, or else they would be shouting all the time, to drive the melody or even to calm things down.''

Whatever happens in the World Cup, Mr. Troussier says he will leave Japan this summer. He admits to craving the validation of his skills that can only come on a European stage. Looking back, though, he recognizes that Japan's ways have affected him at least as much as he has affected Japan.

''Early on here I used to have to get 40 approvals for every decision I wanted to make,'' Mr. Troussier said. ''For me, the first priority was to find a direct route to the president of the soccer federation. The president refused, though, because in Japan, a president is someone who announces decisions only when there are no objections.''

If he couldn't weed out all of the people the soccer federation president used to meet with before announcing anything, Mr. Troussier said he eventually persuaded him to whittle the decision makers down to two or three.

''I was able to achieve that because of my results here,'' he said. ''Because of those results, I, too, have won the right to delegate, and I've become a bit Japanese in the process. The stage where I got involved in every little detail is finished. Like a proper Japanese boss, I find time these days to keep up with my golf.''

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A version of this article appears in print on March 2, 2002, on Page A00004 of the National edition with the headline: THE SATURDAY PROFILE; From France, a Soccer Shogun Stirs Up Japan. Order Reprints|Today's Paper|Subscribe